


Interlude: Remembering

by Tipsy_Kitty



Series: Puppy Verse [13]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is remanded to a large county jail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published to Livejournal 11/4/12. Also, I'm using this update to cross off the **prison scenarios** square on my homebrew bingo card.

Jensen had been to the county jail a few years back when he was first researching claims of negligence and abuse by inmates. It was a massive structure, serving a population of almost 9,000 men and women, one of the largest jails in the country.

Then he’d been a reporter. Now he was an inmate.

As he shuffled through the cafeteria line, he heard the guy behind him saying “Arf, arf,” and his friend laughing. Many of the inmates seemed to believe that because p.e.t.s had been hand-selected to participate in the program, they were pampered and spoiled.

Still, dealing with those idiots was better than dealing with the guys who knew exactly what p.e.t.s were used for. He’d been cornered more than once in the couple of weeks that he’d been here, but he’d always managed to fight his way out of any real threats.

It helped that he had a seriously high threshold for pain now, so he supposed that was something. He’d have to drop that pig-fucker Mark a thank-you note.

“Hey Lapdog!” said the voice behind him again. Sounded like Murphy, a big motherfucker with a mean sense of humor and a sharp right hook. Jensen had tangled with him a few days ago.

Jensen continued to show no reaction, though his body was coiled and ready to strike if the jackass went from taunting to actually engaging in combat.

Jensen was tired of feeling like he was always at war.

Sometimes his mind would send up small flares of anger and resentment, because he had been trying to help the people he was now locked up with, the people who barked at him and tried to fuck him, but he usually was able to stamp it out, remind himself that everybody deserved fair treatment from the state.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take matters into his own hands if necessary.

“Hey, Lapdog, I’m talking to you!”

“Maybe he wasn’t a doggy. Maybe he was a little pussy cat. Yo, were you a little pussy?”

Jensen carried his tray over towards the only friendly face he saw without looking back.

“Hey Miguel.”

“Hey J-man.”

“Want me to sit somewhere else?”

Miguel snorted. “Murphy don’t scare me.”

Jensen began tackling his meatloaf and limp green beans. Miguel raised an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised how good everything tastes after eating kibble for a year,” Jensen said through a mouthful of food.

“Shit, man. Was that really all you ate?”

Jensen thought about Mark and his penchant for humiliating Jensen with chocolate syrup and sticky marshmallow fluff and various other foods.

“Yeah, pretty much. How’s things in the library?

Miguel had been in for seven months already, still awaiting his trial. He helped out in the law library, where Jensen spent most of his free time.

“Hey, get this,” Miguel said. “Some crazy lady is trying to sue the courts because she says that whole PET program thing is racist.”

Jensen snorted. “The whole justice system is racist. I’m not sure PET is where I’d start clamoring for equality.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” Miguel shook his head.

Jensen had seated himself at the end of the long table but Murphy came up next to him and shoved him over anyway. Then his buddy Ace took the seat next to Jensen.

 _Goddammit_.

“Get away from me,” Jensen said calmly.

“Shut up Lapdog. I been hearing about what you dogs are good for and I want a taste.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Nah, think I’m gonna fuck you instead.” Murphy’s hand darted out and squeezed Jensen’s cock painfully through his prison-issued blues.

Jensen slammed his right elbow into Murphy’s throat as hard as he could, then twisted his body to punch Ace in the nose. Blood poured down Ace’s face as he crashed into Jensen’s chest and toppled them both backwards over the bench seat. Jensen cracked the back of his head into the unforgiving floor as he grasped Ace’s shoulders and flung him away.

It was over quickly, altercations in the cafeteria always were. But instead of giving them each a smack with a nightstick and sending them on their way, the guards rounded them up and started hustling them towards solitary.

Jensen began to struggle, twisting his body to get away. He’d only been to solitary one other time and he’d spent 24 hours trying to control his mounting panic. The regular cells were bad enough but the windowless solitary confinement cell made Jensen feel like he was back at Mark’s, trapped and beating uselessly at the wood only an inch or two from his nose.

All his struggles with the guard earned him was a whack on the shoulder with a nightstick, but the pain helped him focus and regain some self-control, and he allowed himself to be led deeper into the jail.

“Stop your fucking fighting, Lapdog,” said Office Brown. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

He was actually one of the more decent COs despite the fact that he used the nickname Jensen despised, so he just grunted in response as he stepped in the cell and the door locked behind him.

He lay on the ground and closed his eyes, stretching his limbs in every direction to remind himself that he was not trapped in a narrow wooden box, not wondering if today was the day Mark would decide to leave him there to rot, not suffocating on the sharp smell of terror that rolled off him in waves.

Time passed slowly in jail, slower in solitary, but Jensen had a lot of practice with boredom. Mark’s focus had been like a laser, burrowing deep into Jensen when he was engaged; ignoring Jensen once he’d grown bored or gotten off. In consequence, Jensen had become adept at slowing down his brain and his breath to match the length of time stretching out before him. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, allowing himself, as he rarely did these days, to think of Before.

 

 

 

 

_Jensen crosses his arms and leans against the back wall of the “meeting hall,” really just an unfinished basement in student housing near the university. Jensen thinks he saw a garage band play here when he was an undergrad, thinks he drunkenly made out with his friend Chris against this very wall._

_He’s not sure he should be here; lately there have been a lot of police crackdowns on this type of assembly. If they get raided he’s pretty sure that his excuse for attending—that he’s gathering information for a story about prison abuse for the local weekly alternative—will make things worse for him instead of better. But the stories he’s already uncovered have opened his eyes to some seriously fucked up shit. People sentenced for crimes on the thinnest of evidence, a return to prison conditions that in some places rivaled 19th-century madhouses. And then there are whispers about a small program that’s been in place for years already that hardly anyone speaks about, that sounds too incredible to be believed. If the stories are correct, the DOC is running a sex-slave ring and calling it just punishment. And though it’s a fairly small program now, the government is heading down a slippery slope that could lead to the enslavement of millions of citizens due to their debts or poverty._

_Logically, Jensen knows all this but he’s still feeling twitchy and nervous and wondering if he should just get out of here, when a tall man with a blinding smile steps up in front of the crowd._

_“Hi, I’m Jared,” he tells the crowd. “And we really have to stop meeting like this.” Everybody cheers._

_“We should be allowed to meet anywhere. In the streets, in the City Hall. We are citizens and we should be heard!”_

_Louder cheers. Jensen looks around the tightly packed basement, sees adoration in the eyes of the other attendees. He’s had enough journalistic training in cynicism to question whether the guy in front of the crowd is really a man of the people or another Jim Jones._

_But after 20 minutes of listening to Jared—tall and powerful, charismatic and engaging—speak about injustice and oppression, about a State that’s gone crazy with power, about how the prison inequalities are just the tip of a very large iceberg, Jensen’s ready to drop his press card and join the fight._

_He’s ready to drink the Kool-Aid._

 

 

 

 

“Up, Lapdog!” said a voice, and Jensen came back into his body. It wasn’t CO Brown this time.

Officer Damon was the scariest guard on the block as far as Jensen could tell, not crude and loud like the others but quiet and cold, with dead eyes. So of course he was the one to bring Jensen his dinner that night.

The food in solitary was the worst, its own form of punishment. Officials maintained that it was healthy and nutritious, if not the tastiest dish, but Jensen had heard stories of prisoners vomiting blood after being served the punitive nutloaf. Cons lied, of course they did, but somehow the stories of the vile dish carried a whisper of truth.

Damon threw the plate down in front of him as Jensen averted his eyes. Damon was impossible to please, and Jensen knew if he said “Thanks” he could get smacked around for speaking, and if he didn’t he’d be in trouble for being rude.

“Speak, Lapdog.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“Eat your dinner.”

Jensen picked up the hideous loaf of god-knew-what and started to bite into it.

“Like the dog you are,” Damon said. Jensen felt a twist of sympathy in his gut for Jared, because Mark had loved to torture him but had never _really_ treated him like an animal.

Not too much.

Jensen laced his hands behind his back and bent forward to eat his dinner, the foul concoction smearing over his lips and into his nostrils.

 

 

 

 

When his time in solitary was over, Jensen tried to not make waves, tried to keep himself out of the tiny cell that made him want to rip his skin off. His court-appointed attorney had told him he’d be out of jail soon on good behavior, out because one of the cops who’d busted down Mark’s door and found Jensen lying in a wooden coffin had been claustrophobic himself and so horrified he’d slapped cuffs on Mark immediately.

Still, even though Jensen tried to stay off the radar and keep his head down, it didn't take long for Ace and Murphy and a couple of their friends to track Jensen down an empty hallway where he was running an errand. ( _Running an errand for Officer Damon_ , his brain helpfully supplied as they held him down and took their turns with him.)

He fought, fought like he’d never been able to against Mark and that evil government-issued shock collar, but the end result was the same.

Jensen was fucked.


End file.
